


Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time

by kiyarasabel



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rough Sex, Rutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyarasabel/pseuds/kiyarasabel
Summary: Íþróttaálfurinn is in rut and trying to do the responsible thing by removing himself from the populace.Glanni sees what he assumes to be an unattended hot air balloon and both get a fun surprise.I just really love these assholes.





	

Íþróttaálfurinn sighed, the chill night air would help, even as he tested his restraints. Tying and binding oneself immobile was a difficult task at best, but he'd had enough practice at this point. It would just be a couple days and he could last another year or so before this primitive condition hit him again. He didn't trust anyone with this secret, embarrassment alone, he would have to be more open and direct about what his elvish heritage entailed.

It had already been a few hours, the throbbing painful but not yet unbearable, and he was reasonably confident in his knots. There was nothing to do but try to relax and meditate and certainly not think about silly catsuited criminals. He didn't want to believe that the mischievous man was to blame for the sudden onset of his rut, but there weren't many other possibilities. They'd barely shared space together, just hardly a day and a chase with nearly no contact.

But the itch was insistent. He had to guess that the man must have magical blood himself to have set him off as such, certainly it couldn't be a simple matter of attraction. He'd had serious relationships that hadn't triggered his rut. It didn't matter how he loved the way the other man squealed, or the sight of those spidery long limbs clinging to whatever means of support within his grasp. He could also jump astonishingly well.

Íþróttaálfurinn groaned, straining against his bonds. The worst part of riding out a rut was knowing that trying to address the ache would only increase its duration. Still, his hips were shifting against the ropes on his thighs looking for a source of friction. He groaned and wondered if it was true what they said about Glanni's feral growls. He tried desperately to blank his mind, knowing that any kind of mental stimulation of that kind would only prolong his misery.

“Holy shit, someone tied you up in your own balloon and it wasn't me? I'd be offended if I wasn't so impressed.”

Íþróttaálfurinn swore a blistering oath. “Get out of here Glæpur, you don't know what you're getting into.”

“Oh, is this a kinky thing? I can't believe that Latabær’s hero is secretly into bondage, wish I had a camera.”

“Glæpur it isn't safe for you up here.”

“Yeah, I'm surprised I made it the whole way up, had to keep thinking that I had scaled higher buildings in the past.” He was rummaging through the hero's belongings carelessly, making disapproving sounds all throughout. He nearly stumbled directly into Íþró’s lap and laughed. “Holy shit, it absolutely is a kinky thing isn't it?”

“Glæpur.” Íþróttaálfurinn tried to growl but it trailed off as a needy sound.

“God, I hope your date didn't stand you up like this. Probably stole whatever good shit you had.” Glanni sat at his feet, casually crossing his legs. “This happen to you often?”

“Only when I can no longer avoid it.” Íþróttaálfurinn gritted his teeth, trying to will himself not to breathe in the scent of perfume and sweat. “You should get out of here.”

“And leave you to suffer all alone? Nah, I'm enjoying the show, watching you get all hot and bothered. I'd be impressed by that tent you're popping if you weren't already leaving a wet spot.”

“Glanni.” He moaned.

“Ooh first name basis, I didn't know that we were so familiar.” Glanni teased the tip of his boot up Íþró’s knee, resulting in the elf shuddering. “My, so tense.” Glanni giggled.

“You shouldn't be here.” He warned, sweat dripping down his forehead. “I won't be able to hold back much longer.” His voice felt like he was gargling gravel. Glanni actually flushed at that.

“Is that really all it takes to make you cum?”

“No you idiot, I'm in rut and if you don't get away from me now I can't guarantee your safety.”

“Oh my, are you threatening to fuck me to death? This is good, if only I could record it.” Glanni stood and pressed his boot into the hero's crotch, rewarded with a loud hiss and twitch of the hips.

“Stop it, Glanni.” He growled. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“What are you going to be able to do, all tied up like that, you can barely hump my foot.” Glanni laughed, thrilled at finally having the upper hand.

Íþró was having trouble focusing, he swallowed hard, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. “I've never had to test these bonds against someone foolish enough to tempt me.”

“Why hide up in a balloon? I'm sure plenty of call girls would throw themselves at the chance to brag about fucking you.”

“It's not that easy. I tend to fixate. If you would leave me alone I will be fine in a few days. If you keep taunting me, I will be on your ass for a week, and I mean that literally.” His growling had reached a fever pitch and he was no longer warning Glanni, he was threatening.

Glanni's eyes were on his foot, rocking against Íþró’s crotch, the heat palpable through the sole of his boot. His head whipped up as the frame of the basket creaked with the strain of Íþro’s clenched muscles.

“Go!” Íþró begged, unable to fight his steady flexing against the ropes, feeling the fibers start to give.

Glanni grinned. “You'll have to catch me then.”

“Don't.”

Glanni stole a kiss before slipping down the anchor rope.

~

Íþró was out of the basket pounding across rooftops before he could even realize that the ropes had given. Later he would worry about structural damage to the integrity of the small airship but for now there was only one focus on his mind, following the scent of the one who had willingly marked himself.

Glanni had made it a few blocks away, panting with laughter at his latest caper when he heard the snap and thud that alerted him that Íþróttaálfurinn had freed himself. Fear and arousal settled into his belly as he started to hurry off, trying his best to keep stealthy, hiding in the shadows.

That the elf would find him was a certainty, but Glanni had evaded pursuit for most of his life, quickly looping back and scattering his trail, confusing the direction and manner of his flight. It had worked against most of his human hunters, he only really feared dogs, as they were what had led to his imprisonment. He knew that Íþróttaálfurinn had the high ground, leaping from building to building, so Glanni took the low ground, taking shortcuts through storm drains and access tunnels.

He was growing weary when he emerged into a dark alley, dripping with sweat and panting. He leaned against a fence to catch his breath and could barely flinch when he heard boots hit the ground behind him. He still shrieked when he felt teeth graze his neck.

“Caught you.” Íþróttaálfurinn grinned into his flesh, grabbing Glanni's thin hips and grinding against them. Glanni mewled as a hand ran down his belly to cup his half hard erection. “Do that again.” Íþró gasped, Glanni heard the hero's belt hit the ground.

Glanni let out a shaky meow as he felt the pressure rubbing against his backside, so hot and feeling impossibly large through the fabric of his catsuit. He shivered as the large hands began to unzip his front, slipping down his sweat slick skin, peeling the fabric away down his back. Glanni's knees were weak and he began to feel fearful, worried that this would be like his first time all over again.

The possessive biting at his neck certainly suggested roughness, but instead he found himself gasping in pleasure as moist fingers teased at his prostate. Íþró was either not as far out of control as he'd led Glanni to believe or even mad with lust a gentler lover than implied. He inhaled longer than he thought possible as he felt the blunt thickness pressing inside him, spreading him open.

He was moaning and wailing loudly, Íþró’s hot breath on his neck, fingers digging into his hips. The hero was grunting and groaning with him, broken curses buried in his skin. Glanni couldn't believe how good it felt for the hero to claim him. He'd had his share of partners, all of them wanting to own him, but this was the first time he felt like he belonged to someone. The throbbing intensified and a knot of what felt like emotion clenched in his chest. His eyes were wet and he was sobbing with pleasure.

His moaning reached another level as Íþróttaálfurinn increased his pace and Glanni wanted to let him know that he was coming but choked off as he felt it start inside him as Íþró slammed into his ass as if with desperation, the heat feeling like fire consuming him. Íþróttaálfurinn bellowed when he came and Glanni's voice went into a high falsetto.

“Shut yer yowling damn strays!” Shouted a voice from a window above, an old boot hitting Íþró’s aching loins. Glanni started to laugh, and with a groan Íþróttaálfurinn pulled himself free.

“Do you know a place where we can find a little more privacy? I'm going to lose any clarity again in less than ten minutes.”

“That quick?”

“I’ll be hard again in two.”


End file.
